


Starry Horizons

by WilliamGavriel



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: F/F, M/M, Modern AU, based on tumblr prompts, basically lots of fluff, some slightly spicy bits/innuendos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilliamGavriel/pseuds/WilliamGavriel
Summary: Nick Carraway is an anxious, aspiring writer in modern New York. As he struggles to stabilise his own identity, sexuality and understanding of life, his good friends- Daisy, Jordan, Jay and more- completely change the world around him in a tale of discovery, romance, and influenza.
Relationships: Jordan Baker/Daisy Buchanan, Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby, Nick Carraway/Mr. McKee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	1. Please Get Vaccinated

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Welcome to my first fic here! It started off as a bit of fun, but I’m naturally not as good when it comes to writing comically (sorry!) so it sort of accidentally ended up being very romantic and feeling focused. 
> 
> This story is based off a [ Great Gatsby Modern AU on Tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/search/Great+Gatsby+modern+au)  
By users [ Sheevly ](https://sheevly.tumblr.com/post/158925599715/great-gatsby-modern-au) , [ Aziraphalesbian ](https://aziraphalesbian.tumblr.com/post/169475096393/great-gatsby-modern-au#_=_) and [ KyleandtheKids ](https://kyleandthekids.tumblr.com/post/159130818422/great-gatsby-modern-au#_=_) KyleandtheKids 
> 
> I really hope the links work!

Cold gold tokens of a violent past dangled pointlessly from the gravestone, medals of victories long forgotten by most at East Egg. Daisy's delicate fingers lightly traced over the carved words.  
‘Tom Buchanan. Football champion, twice winner of...’  
“Blah, blah, blah”. Jordan's voice rung out from behind Daisy, sharp but warm. “I do not get why we come to this dick's grave. Waste of some previous time, if you’d ask me.” As always, her sleek, black bob glinted perfectly in the sun's rays, and her eyeliner was sharper than any knife you could find; the beauty gurus of YouTube would envy her golden skin and beautifully glossed lips. In other words, she did not want to be wasting her time at an abusive, homophobic misogynist’s grave.

Daisy nodded, floating upwards and away from the hellish monument, dry eyes not hesitating to pull themselves off the dull grey rock.  
“You know, I wonder sometimes. What he’d think. If he saw us three now. I think he’d hate it. It makes me smile- I know I shouldn’t-”  
Both Jordan and I simultaneously interrupted, persisting that she really should smile, in a moment of absolute confusion and words, ending in the familiar, intimate laughter that frequented our trio ever since Tom Buchanan died of influenza, on one delightfully pleasant evening some time last year- alone, depressed, yelling racist and transphobic chants at the nurse who provided his final care.  
Abusive, homophobic, misogynistic, transphobic, racist anti-vaxxer. He won’t be missed. 

Jordan strutted away, a satisfying clunk emerging from when her heels punched the floor, which I was tempted to record and give to Gatsby for his pre-bedtime ASMR collection. Her arm was then carefully placed around Daisy's neck, Jordan's usually firm, strong muscles relaxing upon the contact, as if she were using herself as a pillow for her girlfriend- done quite successfully, as Daily snuggled in to the touch, delicately shifting her head on to Jordan's exposed shoulders, and her arm snaked around Jordan's slim waist. It was all so smooth and comfortable, like putting together two puzzle pieces you know are meant to be together. And with that, they set off in to the glow of New York. 

Watching them go, I felt some invisible loneliness holding me back. I was within and without- and it was time for me to step back. But I smiled: they were happy, I was happy, whatever my soul, with all it's human flaws, jealousies and impurities, tries to tell me. 

“Old Sport! Fancy seeing you here!”  
A quiet thrill darted up my spine as I turned slowly around- I had to keep cool. Yet I could feel my eyes feasting upon the delight that is Gatsby in a half-sleeve shirt, the top button undone, a careful casualness that was irresistible and charming to your average closeted twink. The most obvious source of attraction was in his face though, that gentle expression of unlimited love and understanding painted on by some divine being for sure. Soft eyes met mine, a glowing streak of sweet happiness circling his bright irises, while that ever-reassuring, gorgeous smile played on his lips. 

“What brings you here?”  
“I was just out with the girls, Jordan and Daisy- the real question is, what brings you here, Jay?”  
“My house is too small. I'm trying to daydream, let my mind dance while my feet pace, except my body seems to always find a wall when doing that. So I thought it better to daydream outside.”  
“Your house..small?”  
“Oh, I mean no offence in it, don’t get me wrong. It's big, but it’s so crowded. I needed some place free, you know?”  
I knew. Of course there was never any harm or boast in Gatsby's words. His entire self and capability to hope is just too great for this small planet and corrupted beings- yet somehow he seemed to love it, for he saw the tiny sparks of good in all, and surrounded himself by those glimmers, a skill only the best of heart could muster. 

In that park, each blade of grass listened as he started to voice his next dream.  
“I was thinking- I’d like to become acquainted with computers and the internet, Old Sport. Do you think you could give me lessons?”  
Startled, I took a step back, and slipped on some discarded wrapper, tumbling to the floor. Nick Carraway: clumsy, closeted farmer gay. No matter of course; Gatsby's gentle hand reached down, open and welcoming, and he heaved me back up.  
“Don’t worry- I’m ok. I’m alright.”  
“That’s good. What say you?”  
“About the lessons? Of course. I’d love to, actually. When?”  
“Oh whoever suits you- I don’t wish to put you out of your wa-”  
“Two in the afternoon, Billing's Café, day after tomorrow?” I replied, cutting off the usual, nervous apologetic Gatsby ramblings that accompanied wherever he asked for favours.  
“Excellent, excellent. Well, I look forward to it very much Old Sport!”  
“I’m sure Jordan will too” I murmured under my breath.


	2. Oof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending of last chapter, after Gatsby asks for lessons on the internet: 
> 
> “Excellent, excellent. Well, I look forward to it very much Old Sport!”  
“I’m sure Jordan will too” I murmured under my breath.

“No. Absolutely not. Hearing you say ‘and that’s the tea sis’ twice a day, for two weeks straight is the reason why I’m dead inside. I think if Gatsby did the same, I would die on the outside too.”  
“Aw, come on Jordan! It will be fun!” Like mystical Christmas bells, Daisy's voice drifted across the busy street we walked down, a magical charm that tingled around both our ears. She stood between me and Jordan, the girls' hands entwined in a perfect ballet, and I knew Jordan wouldn’t resist.   
“All right then. Just- no Twitter. All Gatsby will do is follow motivational quotes accounts.”  
“Deal.”  
‘OMG, can I just say, friendship goals! I’d love to find a friend like one of you!’ Some random nobody glanced enviously at Daisy and her girlfriend, loneliness playing in her eyes quietly. Sympathy stirred in me, yet I felt a light annoyance attacked at the mistake.   
Jordan felt annoyed to apparently, as she proceeded to produce the most dominant eye roll of the century. 

Light from the computer was absorbed quickly by keen eyes, from Gatsby, as he scrolled through the social media platform we had decided was best for him: Tumblr. Just as long as he kept out of political tags. His hand slowly moved along the cursor pad, a mindless curiosity and attitude for adventure steadily ebbing from him with each click, scroll, and friendly chuckle at some good post. You could always rely on Tumblr for good, wholesome memes, and Gatsby breathed off those.   
“Look here, Old Sport! A guide to internet talk! This is very convenient, how do I save it?”  
“You press reblog, see that little sign down there...”

Opposite us, Daisy and Jordan watched us offhandedly, murmuring their own lovely things in to the warm air between then, before Daisy shifted, and raised herself, pressing a little kiss on to Jordan's tense jaw, producing a wide, red smile on her face.  
“Wow! I’ve seen you in and out of this café all the time, but I didn’t know you were so close to go on a double date together! But as much as I love my girls, I think kissing them during a date is a bit off limits, wouldn't ya say?” She searched their faces with a half adoring, half confused look, her hands firmly on her wide hips as she pouted at us. “Wouldn’t ya?”   
We stared at her blankly, not to sure how to respond to the confident interruption. I could feel Gatsby's focus shift to the screen, before he promptly looked up and said, “I think the appropriate response here is ‘oof’.”

Jordan ended up laughing so hard at Gatsby's nervous response, she didn’t even manage to get out her usual, sarcastic reply. Daisy waved the baffled woman off with her angelic hand, before returning to the table, glowing with a fun delight.  
“Oh Jay, that was the perfect response!” her wispy voice reached out. “You’re so good at this!”  
“Much better than Nick.” Jordan added, adorning her face with her favourite sunglasses.   
I refrained from responding, settling for the usual rosy blush to fall on to my cheeks, as I followed Daisy out the door, and in to the hustle-bustle of the hungry city. 

Jay Gatsby used the word 'oof' approximately seventy two times while in my presence that week. Sadly for me, he was spending less and less time with me, and more and more time in his house, internet, and mind. It seemed the internet was made for him, with endless nooks and crannies and worlds to explore- people from distant lands trying to capture beautiful deserts and colossal dying glaciers in a tiny Instagram post- it had everything and anything Gatsby wanted. He stayed away from the internet for a long time, feeling it was a distraction from the simplicity of his life, and complexity of his own mind. It was the opposite, his life could now be found half inside a tiny computer, that had art, writing, and people that could get caught in the web of his imagination, ceaselessly growing all around him. He sailed through it, taking in so much, to the point where he seemed to know just as much as us, by the time his next lesson rolled around, which we decided should be at Daisy's house. 

Daisy Fay decided to remain in the house of her former husband. It was for no sentimental reason, the loathing she held for him was uncontainable. It was simply to take down all Tom's achievements (shipped off to Yale for their alumni collection) and instead fill the vast walls with her own life's past. Letters from a long lost pen pal, embarrassing shots of a young me and Daisy, the beautiful sketches of the nurse that cared for the bitter Tom- now close friend and racial activist. Trophy cabinets were reserved specifically for Jordan's achievements as she makes her way through the golfing world...with one exception: with a glowing pride, I recall in her ‘favourite’ trophies, a book- with handwritten stories by yours truly, for some childhood birthday. She’d also filled the place with flowers and all things natural, that Tom's hay-fever detested in his lifetime. 

“Right then- what are we looking at today?” An enthusiastic Gatsby beamed at us all.   
“You basically know everything!” Daisy replied, lightly chucking- she was very correct.   
“What are you doing Daisy, by the way?” Jordan looked at her girlfriend, faintly amused, mainly confused, as Daisy appeared to be sowing something on a very small T-shirt, her crystal hands precisely performing smooth movements over and over, with an eternal patience none of us could muster.   
“Why, I’m altering some of Pammy's clothes! Tom chose this one. It’s very...well, Tom. But it’s perfectly good, and Pammy still hasn’t grown, so she can still use it!” with a flourish, she turned the T-shirt around; it was a plain white thing with the obnoxious words ‘Lock up your sons cos daddy's got guns!’ cheaply plastered on the top. Yet it was faded, as Daisy appeared to be sewing something on top-   
“Jaylen, the nurse, designed it. It’s so pretty! She got it printed on fabric so I could sew it over that horrible message!”  
Indeed, it was a work of art. Two silhouettes were formed from explosions of colour, dancing, beautiful, complex- undoubtedly the figures were Daisy and Jordan themselves. Daisy's figure was brighter, like a merry, short song, coloured in rose, royal blue and lavender. Jordan meanwhile, was more angular, like her usual eyeliner, her figure a gradient of orange, pink and white. Literally the most perfect thing to cover whatever babble Tom thought appropriate for his daughter. 

Gatsby groaned, drawing our attention back to his lesson, much to his horror, for he had no plan to disrupt our awe. “I’m perfectly sorry Jordan- Daisy- Old Sport. It’s just, that these Wikipedia articles have some important details that appear to be missing. How can you alter it?”   
Thus, we finally found something to teach Gatsby- the art of editing Wikipedia.


	3. Nick is Sick and Jay is Sad

Influenza, for reasons beyond me, decided to pop around for a visit to my place, and I became more familiar with my bed, as I caught up on all the missed sleep for work and caffeine. Jaylen, the ever wonderful nurse, came around, and provided their strong medicine of motivation, massages and medical stuff on the side. I felt it necessary to apologise to the poor person, fussing after us, and remaining good friends with us despite the abuse hurled at them from Tom.   
“No matter, no matter!” They said, their voice both hard like wood, and rich, like thick chocolate cake, “you just keep getting those vaccines, and if possible, refrain from racist and transphobic insults. However, I’m especially trained to work with such people, so even then, it’s no matter.”   
An icon in every way, they’re the hero the world needs, but doesn’t deserve. 

In the course of this troubling illness, I received a visit from Gatsby. I was touched, for he had clearly cancelled one of his usual parties for little, ill me, and Jaylen rolled their eyes as I once more let out a stream of apologies to him, which were quickly beaten down.   
“You needn't worry Old Sport, seriously, I actually just wanted to ask for your help.”   
“Oh, what for?”   
“I got an email this morning.”  
“Explain.”  
“It’s a bit of a story.”   
I looked down at myself, lying in a bed, in my warmest unicorn night suit.   
“I don’t think I’m going anywhere soon Jay.” 

“Well, Old Sport, you see, I was browsing and exploring the great world of Wikipedia, and ended up stumbling across articles familiar to home. They have Jordan Baker, did you know? They had a lot written about her. And then I found my article.  
“They didn’t say much about me, just that I occasionally acted in films, had grand parties, and spent some time in the army. So, having my new Wikipedia account, I decided to fill in the many blanks, right down to the illegal cookie selling business I had in school. I thought that I owed it to the public, so they could trust me and my parties. That being said the cookie selling bit was dodgy, but I clarified my remorse on it. I mentioned you too! A best friend of mine, along with Daisy and Jordan. I spent a long time editing the article.”

He stood in silence for a few minutes- his mind God knows where- as his eyes swept over the wooden walls of my room. I sat up on my bed, teetering on the corner, waiting.   
“And then?”  
“Well, I opened it today, and nothing had changed. It was rather confused. So I checked by email, and this came up-”  
He opened his laptop, to show me what it said. 

Dear Wikipedia user JayGatsby,

We thank you for recent contributions to the Wikipedia article on Jay Gatsby. However, none of your changes cited sources to verify your changes. 

Wikipedia aims to provide the public with accurate information on the world for free. Sources and references are a necessity in ensuring the knowledge is the most reliable available. 

Thus, we have deemed it necessary to remove your changes to the original article. 

We hope you can understand our decision. 

Wikipedia Team.

As Gatsby sat there, with an exasperated forlorn on his face, I felt an unwanted rising mirth up within me, which came out in the form of loud giggles, that got harder and harder as Gatsby failed to react at my laughter, too consumed by the tragedy of Wikipedia's cruel rejection.

I slipped of the bed and tumbled to the floor with a crash that definitely shut me up. Jaylen was by my side as if my magic, carefully pulling me back on, shaking their head while I shook like an earthquake, half from laughter, half from the shivering repulsion my entire body faced in contact with the cruel cold as I had abandoned my glorious blankets from heaven.   
“Please tell Jaylen the story! I’m sure they’ll love it!”   
“Even if I do, now's not the time. I have to care you, snotty boy!”   
The tables had turned, as I glared helplessly at the retreating nurse (off to get tissues) as Gatsby dissolved in to giggles, sensitively attuned to my absolute horror as the name ‘snotty boy’s sank in to my mind. 

Gatsby's hand fell on my shoulder, and stillness took over my outside body, while my insides shook in an earthquake more powerful to the one moments before, overwhelming yet blissful. The moment lasted for an infinity before it stopped in a millisecond.   
“Well Old Sport, looks like karma's at work. I hope you recover soon, Old Sport, the outside world must be missing you.” Stunned, gay silence still held me as Gatsby walked out to the world that waited for him.


	4. Lesbian Rights

Seriously, please get vaccinated. And get nurse Jaylen to treat you if possible. I was soon as right as rain, and full of youthful energy, and New York's parks became highly desirable places for my eager, deprived feet and desire for fresh air. I frequently found myself accompanied by a series of friends- the pleasant people who I work asides, long-lost figures from my childhood, and of course, Daisy, Jordan, and Gatsby. However, on the day I currently recall, it was not a park that we visited: it was Jordan's golf tournament, where our lives turned around. With effortless skill and careful precision, she targeted each and every hole, chasing after them like a keen falcon after a mouse, keeping a stream of low scores and wins. Gatsby's light cheers mingled with others- but the one that stood out was Daisy's. With a wavering voice, she breathlessly chanted after her girlfriend, clearly tinging with anxious excitement. 

Victory was hers, another cup, another medal, to take some spare space in one of many trophy cabinets waiting readily at her home. With a bounce in her prance, Jordan came over, failing to conceal her delight, embracing us all with a peck on each cheek, before she grasped hold of Daisy's arm- and her face fell.  
“Darling! What's the matter? You’re freezing!”   
“Oh! Am-am I? I didn’t notice! I’m very pleased Jordan, very pleased! Oh, I feel faint!”   
“Daisy-”   
The girl in question bent down, as if to swoon. But she didn’t swoon.   
She got on one knee.   
Now it was Jordan's turn to start stuttering.  
“Jordan! We've been together for exactly one year, one hour and thirty five minutes now. And how long have we hidden our feelings before that? Too long, too long. Well, I’m not going to wait any longer. Jordan, will you be my beautiful butch wife, and spend your life together with me, fighting for lesbian rights and lesbian-bi solidarity?”  
Jordan swept down, and placed a kiss on Daisy's lips.  
“Yes, yes, yes! I’m paralysed with happiness!” Indeed, it was true, as she stood, staring in to Daisy's sparkling eyes, unmoving.   
A cheer went around, as Gatsby weakly said “Aba mij gafjel jak bifved!” or something, in what I believe to be an attempt spoken keysmash- pretty well executed, in all honesty.   
They pressed lips again, Jordan chucking her golf club away, while Daisy blossomed like a flower. 

Apparently people still didn’t get the idea. The five of us (as Nurse Jaylen joined the group), the following fine day, pushed through a crowd of snapping crocodiles with cameras, ready to feed of lies and whispers and blurry images, their shouts for their awful food deafening us.   
“Jordan! Jordan Baker! What are those rumours about your engagement? Is it him? Or him?”  
“Are you going to cheat on him like you supposedly cheated in the games five years back?”  
“Mr Gatsby! What do you have to say about the recent use of illegal drugs in your party?”  
“Jordan! Who is that close female friend you’ve been seen with? Some recognise her as Tom B-”  
Suddenly, Jaylen, the nurse, got to where all the reporters were, filling the area with that immense, divine energy of theirs. Staring the man sharp in the eye, they replied:

“They’re lesbians, Harold.”   
Her voice was bold and tired.   
“Oh? So is she experimenting with-”  
“They’re getting married, Harold.”  
“But marriage is between man and a woman!”  
“...no. Just no, Harold.”  
“Now Jordan's always been a sensible girl, I can’t believe she’s getting in to these crazy-”  
“Begone, Harold.”  
We we glad to see him go. 

Flowers and sparkles and bright brides-to-be adorned the adorable dress shop we were in, the fierce manager shutting out the screaming yapping of the reporters, as the five of us were entranced by the magical blooms of heaven's fabric rippling around the place- Daisy's silky hand caressed all of them in utter delight, Jordan was dazzled by the keeper explaining the graceful work behind the unique dresses, Gatsby attempted several out-loud key smashes, Jaylen took up the task of getting him to stop, as I immediately sought for the two special white blooms that would hug the future wives on their special day, before Jordan pulled over.   
“Marianne won’t believe it- that Daisy only proposed yesterday and we're already looking for dresses. Tell her Nick, it’s true!”  
“It very much is!”  
“Oh that’s simply exquisite! I’ve never seen a couple so eager- it’s lovely to see!”  
“Some day, we're gonna have a nice chat, and I’ll tell you all the details! But now, I need to find a dress!”

We reconvened with Gatsby and Daisy, clearly trying to imagine Daisy in the cloud-like dress behind them.   
“Yes. Yes, yes yes.” exclaimed Jordan, after taking a few glorious moments to picture it.   
“I know! I knew it had to be as soon as I saw it. Nick, Gatsby, be darlings and fetch those shoes and veil over there. This is going to be great!”  
As soon as we departed, we heard a squeal of some other bride in the distance- concerned, we rushed back as quickly as we could without breaking the fragile apparel we held.   
“Oh my gosh! Are you two getting married together?”  
“Why yes-”  
“Oh my gosh! Me and my best friend are too! Who are the husbands? Lucky men!”   
Thankfully Marianne, the shopkeeper, and Jaylen went about correcting them, as Daisy silently went to purchase her outfit, and Jordan wondered around aimlessly muttering, “I’m going to fucking SCREAM!”

Several golden rays danced across the room as the six of us lounged around like helpless victims to a roaring heat. Jordan's retelling of her and Daisy's love life was frequently interrupted as Marianne and Jordan found their pleading throats too loud to resist. Gatsby, however, was once more flawless. His sun-strained eyes were a kaleidoscope of dreams and beautiful thoughts as he looked musingly out of one of the French windows, giving the sun a wistful smile, as if he were reassuring it that it wasn’t frying everyone in this room, and it was doing its best. My full effort had to be used to mercilessly rip my gaze off his broad shoulders, the pink tee stretched tight around them, to focus on the meaningless strings of words scrawling over yellowed pages in front of me. 

“Say,” began Marianne, “won’t it spoil the event if you know what Daisy's dress looks like?”  
“Absolutely not. Beautiful Daisy- I could see her in that dress every day yet still get blown away by her beauty and radiant love. I’ll have my breath taken away as soon as I see her walk down the isle. My breath will even be taken away now when she returns with a glass of water-”  
Of course, just them, Daisy waltzed in time the room, leaving Jordan in stunned silence. 

My heart did a little jump as it overheard the tenderness of Jordan's missing words, and Gatsby did too, as his eternal smile was gifted to us all- for he swivelled around and said “well look, now you’ve made me all soft!” My heart jumped higher.   
A shrill, metallic scream issued from the doorway, and it was Gatsby who bounded up like a dog, expecting some interesting news from the paper. Rather, his radiant smile wilted and fell as he read the poisonous black print. With disgust, it went down a trail- Marianne, Jaylen, and then to me, and my soul became sick at the words “‘Player’ Jordan Baker Breaks Jay Gatsby's Heart...for a Woman.” A long, revolting title designed to enforce some viscous, unnecessary hate for Jordan, who even got her sportsperson profession twisted in to some pun on her being a ‘player’. The warm breath of Daisy tinkled with my ear.   
“My turn.”   
I handed over the paper to Jordan and Daisy, leaving an echoing silence as they read that line.   
“I an DEFINITELY going to to fucking SCREAM!”

Jordan did exactly that. As we all brought the wine, soft toys and medicine to cool her, Daisy found the perfect use for the paper, as she carelessly wrapped some recently rediscovered trophy of Tom's in it, ready to be sent far, far away.


	5. More Lesbian Rights ft. Lesbian-Bi Solidarity

Over the next month, the sun withdrew its angry shining, and a brilliant cold kicked in- well, not that brilliant for me, as I stared woefully at my flushed nose and cheeks, dim eyes, and the scarf hugging my neck in the mirror. In the sun's place, Daisy and Jordan became brighter, filling the streets with their warmth and tender affection. People were finally getting the idea that they weren’t ‘just pals’, and quick congratulations were thrown at them from across the streets. Work, fanfiction writing and concerns from God knows where frequently visited us, absorbing so much of our time that the wedding, after a month or so of waiting, seemed to knock on our doors after what felt like days. For me at least, but according to Daisy and...Gatsby for some reason (Jordan related to me, time truly zipped), that one month was the ‘slowest, most odious betrayal time has ever chucked at us’. 

“You know, a lot of couples stay engaged for a while-”  
“Yes, and we’ve basically been engaged for years now, just informally and silently, as neither of us made the first actual move!” Daisy replied, batting away my comment. “Just take the measurements.”  
It was one sleep until the big day, and thus a less convenient time for Daisy to come up with ideas for the wedding. But the constant talk from the less accepting media was all on “Jordan and Gatsby’s destroyed relationship” was seriously killing everyone, and Daisy found she simply had to address it in some way. In true Daisy fashion, it was to do with, well, fashion. Gatsby had graciously sent one of his rosy blazers for Daisy to modify and make her own, knowing Jordan would be absolutely speechless when she walked in the next day. 

Jordan's eyes sung, while her mouth failed to, as she saw Daisy walk up to her. Daisy was engulfed in a dream, cuddled with warm ruffles of soft snow, flowing like a waterfall down to the stunned floor, the skirt trailing behind her with a gentle, scratching sound as it bounced along, up to the front of the isle. Silky roses entangled her upper body, in the personalised blazer, wrapping gently around her waist, as Jordan's hand so often did. Yet all that was nothing compared to Daisy's face, framed by glowing hair, with a healthy blush that was so absent at her previous wedding, soft hazel eyes bubbling with starlight, sunlight and good old love, her lips carved in to a plump, light grin causing her dimples to strut forth. There was an aura about her, something divine and reassuring, casually reaching out to tickle all who beheld her. 

Jordan was just as stunning, the cool attitude gently ebbing from her, until this moment of shock and admiration. Being a sportswoman through and through, her dress was short and smooth, rather like her golf ones, encasing a strong, dainty body, revealing powerful legs and arms, tense with anticipation. There was no surprise to her eyeliner being unsubtle and sharp, while her red lips were slightly parted in a gasp to her soon-to-be wife as she focused on her with a beautiful, piercing look from dazzled, dazzling eyes- stormy grey with rings of gold. 

The wedding had begun. It was a traditional, religious one, as per Jordan's request, conducted by her favourite priest as a child, who still retained his soft eyes and open heart. All went smoothly and happily, a sense of comfort in the church, as if this was always meant to be. I caught a glimpse of Gatsby on another bench, beautiful pride painted honestly on his gorgeous face, and deep down, I felt too, that this calm, peaceful, perfect moment was meant to be in this chaotic world. 

Then, the party came, bringing back that chaos, but in the best possible way. Cakes and sweets decorated tables as tall, vast displays of Daisy's brilliant cooking skills and Jordan's brilliant spending skills, and as a result, Gatsby found himself complete and utterly stuffed with icing and foods, as his sugar addiction wrecked uncontainable havoc, much to everyone's delight- he really behaved like the most wise, wild child. Marianne proved herself to be an apt dancer, but the priest was undoubtedly the best, ending with the most admirable spin as the final notes of Pompeii by Bastille sang out. Nurse Jaylen eventually had to stop Gatsby scoffing cake before he got sick, before scolding me for drinking way too much coffee (the caffeine got to me, as I jammed out on the dance floor erratically by the end), while the newly weds thanked the people leaving. 

Then it was my turn to leave, as I stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for Jordan and Daisy to stop their conversation; they were close, eyes only for their wife, their breaths gently playing with each other, mixing tenderly together. 

“Nicky!” Daisy exclaimed suddenly, sliding her gaze over to me, still filled with that overwhelming love for everyone. “Going so soon?”  
“Sadly. I need to sleep off the coffee. Take care of Jay for me!”  
“Of course! Except I think Jaylen is doing that. She’s a real character. Her only flaw is that she can be too harsh sometimes- so I’ll be more saving Jay from her then taking care of him.”  
With a bounce, she danced to Gatsby, leaving me to congratulate Jordan and exit with a weak chuckle. 

Honeymoon in Columbia summoned the wives- apparently Daisy was having a random volcano phase and wished to understand more about them. Though Instagram could never truly capture the brilliance of Daisy and Jordan, the photos they posted displayed the two in the most normal, bright way: Daisy in her usual pastel glory shimmering around her, Jordan reflecting the night sky in her attire, close together, in front of a monstrous and towering creation of terror, sleeping under the fragile gaze of volcanologists. It was wonderful; their care and enjoyment of each other even reached through the endless algorithms and numbers of social media.  
It made me feel lonely. And this loneliness made me feel horrible, which then made me feel depressed, and as always when it comes to these emotions- bubbling like the volcanoes they were visiting- I saw it only appropriate to head over to the illustrious local gay bar- the Phoenix, to drown my problems in alcohol.


	6. The Photographer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this is where the fun stuff kinda ends, and the more natsby stuff starts, so feel free to stop here if that's not your thing!
> 
> Warning for this chapter specifically: implied sex 
> 
> Enjoy!

I have been drunk just twice in my life, and the second time was that evening. To prevent foreboding loneliness consuming me, I surrounded myself with alcohol, flashing lights, and handsome men- decent, except there was one certain handsome man who's lack of presence was amplified. The ever straight Gatsby. The idea of moving on suddenly shot through me like an electric shock, and in an un-Nick Carraway like movement I boldly swayed to the dance floor, looking for everything and nothing, finding I was surrounded by people and yet completely alone and-   
Large, comely hands pressed against my shoulders , steering my away from panicked chaos with drunken confidence, swivelling around, I came under the gaze of dark, focused eyes, surrounded by rough skin and thin hair, some carefully swept over the head and some in a thin moustache.

“Are you alright?” Warm, dulled air entangled with whiskey and wine messed with my senses, teasing the hairs on my skin with careless purposefulness, provoking a thrilling calmness in me that wanted me to know more about those small dots of stubble living across his jaw.   
“I think so- I mean- I am. Just drunk.” My voice was a slurred murmur.   
“Me too, me too.” He didn’t need to tell me, and I developed in me, some strange courage or recklessness that forced me to look him in the eye, and both of us shifted, and in hazy moments, we were outside in New York's chilled streets, pacing to the man- Chester McKee’s house nearby- a large, top floor in a handsome block of flats. 

We groaned up in the elevator, nervous, exited, unprepared, our tired, snappy companions seemingly unaware of the turbulent fireworks of emotions within and between us two...  
...I was there, in his bed, inspecting the beautiful mess of his untamed face, it’s strong muscles, feminine structure and curved face smoothly flowing into a thin neck and chest, which I gently traced, slowly moving downwards...  
...I was sitting besides him, in some new bed robes he kept spare, as he rested upright, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands. Mesmerised, I watched him flick through the pages, each one bringing something new, and gorgeous in to my plain mind, sparking it with beautiful imaginations and motions.   
“Beauty and the Beast...Loneliness...the one time Charlie Brunswick beat me at Mario Kart...Brook’n Bridge...” 

I stopped, hesitantly, and lightly touched his coarse hands, before he could turn another delicate page.   
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, bewildered- I often regard myself as a man of sense, yet here I was completely following my own instinct, “but I don’t think we'd work. You’re great, it’s just...”   
It was just my soul shrunk away at his hardened brown eyes- made for some other lucky person, but not me- and my soul instead called for the subtle, reassuring glance of one particular man with baby blue eyes.   
“I get you.” I couldn’t tell if there was a melancholic edge to that, or if it was genuine sincerity. “I seriously get you.” His arm then went around my shoulders with a determined gentle movement, not unlike Gatsby's, and he smiled a genuine smile. “Come see my photography gallery next week. It’s called ‘Starry Horizons’. And maybe catch up at Phoenix.”  
As sincere as he was, I replied “I would love to.”

I stayed until early morning, establishing links with the fellow, and a rich friendship, before somehow getting up and returning home, set beautifully next to Gatsby's, under the light of the stars and sun over the distant horizon. 

The following day, I was lonely. Again. Once more, it seemed like a The Phoenix Bar was to have me as a guest, though I was set on not getting drunk that time. And I really didn’t need to. For as soon as my blinded eyes adjusted to the flying twirls of coloured light, they were instantly drawn to a certain figure standing before the brilliant white light, casual laughter caught on his face, as he turned in my direction. Overtaken by panic, I felt movement leave me as those starlit eyes focused on me with glowing recognition.   
My mind was on fire, yet hazy at the same time, and as he approached me, a fountain of unwanted thoughts sprung up, like a splattering mess of dirty water.   
There was an awareness that the Nick that Jay saw, more wonderful and perfect than reality, must be fading away with each footstep, an awareness that no doubt came from that internal homophobia that now invaded my mind violently, and suddenly Jay's dream of that brilliant, straight Nick- my dream too- was gone, as he looked me straight into my grief-stricken eyes, yet his smile was ever reassuring. 

“Old Sport!” Clear and sweet like honey, his voice and familiar nickname was an awful joy to experience. Every step he led me back to his friends felt unnatural, as if some stiff spirit had taken over for me. Introducing myself with a hollow voice, I found my comprehension and understanding slightly raised, despite the loud screaming in my mind, with Gatsby's godly hand on my back, so secure I could believe that all the storms and mountains in my life had died or crumbled into glittering dust.   
“Charles Brunswick. I believe you know my wife, Marianne.”   
Though I had consumed no alcohol, my mind was blurry, and it took a few moments for my thoughts to fit into a puzzle with a satisfying ‘clunk’ that is known as conclusion.   
“Yes. Yes, I do know her! She runs the dress shop! But...” Why was he here? The term ‘bisexuality’ floated in my mind briefly, but I looked to the man, and then to the dim lights reading ‘GAY BAR’ near the entrance in a silent request for explanation- thankfully Charlie was not as oblivious as Jay, and understood my nervous question with a playful smile.   
“Marianne is my all and everything. I’m just here to supply my good booze. Technically Jay owns that booze, but either way, good quality.” 

The excitement in the area seemed to fade away as Gatsby's filling presence was sucked away by some matter of business, but Charlie kept good company, with the same boisterous pleasantness of his wife.   
“So you’re straight, in a gay bar.” I commented randomly to him.   
“Yep. Hopefully allies are accepted here?” I gave him every reassurance that it was so- I had no reason to lie.   
“And on the contrary, you certainly are not straight.”  
“Well, you got that right. And so does Gatsby. I know he’s accepting but, well, I just don’t know how to feel about him knowing about that. I feel like his perceptions of me must have changed, as if the perfect Nick he must have formed in that vast imagination of his has been tarnished with the drunk reality of it all.”   
Charlie spent a short minute with the cheekiest grin etched on to his face, before he quietly stated: “I have never seen a man so in love with someone he seems knows nothing about.” 

Deep with in me, the nerd raised his fist ready to face a Gatsby general knowledge quiz, but sensible Nick beat him down.   
“What do you mean?”   
Charlie remained in annoying silence. 

It was then the man in question returned, the shocking instance of nervousness on his face fleeing in an instant as he spotted us, and glowing warmth surrounded him as he approached, the ‘GAY BAR’ sign hanging above his head...  
...oh.   
It had gone literally and metaphorically over his head that this was a gay bar. He had no clue.   
Of course. He was Jay Gatsby. Reality was a blank canvas for him to paint his fantasy world upon, small details like this being a a Gay Bar were nothing of concern. 

“Hello again! Where was I? Oh yes, it’s weird Old Sport, I frequent this bar, yet I’ve never seen you here...”  
My mouth was too dry for words, the panicked and internally homophobic thoughts simply walking out the door leaving nothing but a general mass of confused nonsense, so I looked at Charlie with tragic, pleading eyes, asking for him to confirm if Jay really had no clue leaving Charlie to burst in to a mass of bubbly laughter and Jay looking at us both with a loving, but completely baffled and concerned gaze.


	7. Thanks, AO3

Still suffocating in the comfortable closet, I proceeded to live life as normally as possible, while simultaneously telling that irrational part of the mind to shut up and stop having dreams where Jay randomly finding out it’s a gay bar, working out who I am, before, in his horror, he flies off to live with penguins in Antarctica. (Don’t ask what my mind does half the time).   
‘He’s literally defended Jordan and Daisy countless times.’ I argued with myself. ‘And have you seen how many gay penguins there are? Last respond for a homophobe.’   
Still, these thoughts prattled on, day after day, firing bullets at my heart, poisoned with fear.   
But the voice was wrong, the bar had nothing to do with my great reveal. 

“Old Sport,” began Gatsby through the dust of his grand library, “I wanted to ask something.”  
“Go ahead.”   
“Well it’s a bit of a long story, Old Sport.”  
“Considering we're chilling in a library, with nothing to do, I believe it would be appropriate.” I had impressed myself with my light, rare, wit, but Gatsby only let out a chuckle that was undoubtedly nothing to do with my comment. Nonetheless, I settled down, ready to hear what he had to say.   
“You follow me on Tumblr. You were my first follower, Old Sport! Anyway, I wanted to find out what you’ve been doing all this time on the internet. I see you’re a massive anime fan!”   
Pink colour flooded my cheeks, and I could feel my feet twitching.   
“And you write fanfiction for it. You had a link to your AO3.”  
It was time for my face to fall in to my hands, as I drew myself in tight, still not entirely too sure where this was going.   
“Don’t be embarrassed, Old Sport, your writing is great! I would love to see how you’d describe me in writing. Probably better than what I’d written...but, you’ve attempted to describe me before, haven’t you?”  
And suddenly it flashed in my mind what he must be taking about. A disclaimer. In an attempt to justify my awful description of gay relationships- indeed, relationships in general- I wrote a message that went “even though I am a raging homosexual, I’m still a closeted, shy, farmer gay with an unrequited crush on the cool, handsome, straight next door neighbour, and thus have had very little experience in romance.” Every word now seemed to laugh at me, revenge for my giggled when I wrote the disclaimer. 

Meanwhile, I myself, didn’t laugh, nor produce any response, and instead just looked Jay with mournful eyes. This was not how I wanted to come out. At all. Wistfully gazing back, his eyes were full of light-hearted smiles.   
“You got it wrong.”  
“What?”  
“You got it wrong. You said I was cool, handsome and straight.”  
“Yes, and?”  
“It’s wrong, like I said.”   
I felt drunk again, my mind simply didn’t function around this gorgeous man. Dumbstruck, I just looked at him pleadingly.   
“You said I was straight. That, for sure, isn’t true. Have you even seen my username on Tumblr? It’s Gatsbi. Ending with bi for a reason!”   
My dumb ass still couldn’t reply, as it processed it all.   
“So it looks like we're Gatsbi and Carragay. And instead of Fay and Baker, I think Gay and Biker will suffice, though it’s not as cool as ours, and it’s reversed, since it’s Daisy Fay who's bi, and Jordan Baker who-”  
“Will you marry me?”

Wow, brain, just wow. After moments of simply gaping, it decides to blurt out that- and it’s soon Jay gaping, stumbling over sentence starters, but only for moments, before that cool composure that surrounded him returned, which I sadly do not posses: it abandoned me ruthlessly at birth.   
“Think that’s a bit far, Old Sport, but, you know-“  
“Will you go to a photography exhibition with me?” 

That was more like it- except I knew that instead of appreciating photography, there was only one piece of art that would be my all that day, the one that was grinning beautifully at me.   
“I was actually going to ask you the same some time soon. Starry Horizons?”  
“Yes, yes, yes!” I am still not sure what triggered the response; it was yelled, in a thrilling, cracked voice, accompanied by me jumping from my seat in to the beams of warm light that peeked through the windows. Perhaps it was the simply joy of acceptance from family, maybe the knew found knowledge on that family, or it could the fact that we’d just asked each other out on the same date- either way, it was all that was needed for me to feel like I’d finally made it, like the screaming internalised homophobia was being beaten back simply through Gatsby's will. 

“There are four types of people: the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired...and I’m the last one.” said my brain to me. And for the first time in real life, I rested my head on Gatsby's broad, firm shoulders, and nodded off, and no dreams I had could compare to the real life one I had just experienced.


	8. Jay Finds Out it's a Gay Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last main chapter! The final one is more of an epilogue.   
Enjoy!

Anime towels, specially personalised with my name, dried my floofy hair as best as I could, before being chucked away, into the laundry basket. Mildly trembling hands straightened out a coal-coloured bow tie, and smoothed the dark folds of my oak-brown suit.   
I seriously hope Gatsby didn’t recognise it was my Dr. Who costume. 

Deep breath after deep breath, I stumbled my way to my neighbour's towering, but friendly mansion, accompanied by the harmonious singing of rising birds, lulling my anxiety away as they played the opening number to what was sure to be a most thrilling day of my life, as I rang the doorbell to open the first act. 

Jay Gatsby, glowing literally, strolled out there door with the most charming smile I’ve seen on him, stretching across his face, each side pointing to deep dimples. Alongside the striking smile were eyes full of raw hope and excitement, splashed with brilliant blue that looked like a child's paining of the sea, sparkling like the finest champagne, with a gaze right in to me filled with a tender love every twink wants to experience at some point in their life. Dancing across his face was a rosy complexion, highlighting the faint embarrassment held within his heart. And in that moment of simple eye contact, it felt like Gatsby had raised a glass of unique champagne to me, and me alone, in one of his midnight parties, with fireworks dancing and screaming with excitement in the background, ready to change my life, as I was the chosen one. Though that wasn’t the case, a visit to a photography collection was just as valid, and I was confident (for once) and ready to go, so I grabbed his dangling, seemingly purposeless hand, and gave it the job of warming mine, while I guided him to the local subway, as prepared as you can be for a date with with the Great Gay- I mean Jay- Gatsbi. 

Walls wearing thick white paint and vivid photography surrounded us merrily, careful tricks of the camera meddling with our minds as we inspected each of the still shots of memory and past etched and printed on to canvases to remain stuck for the present and future. There was one particular photo that struck me, half the photo was obstructed by beautiful, blurred flowers reaching out to the women who sat next to each other on a bench, leaves falling like confetti around them. It was only their backs: one blonde mass of hair tucked under a three-pointed lavender cap half covered the other girl's face, like the flowers to the photo, while the sharp black bob that rested on the other's shoulders contrasted with the rest, yet blended in so perfectly. That inner warmth that confirmed that everyone was meant to be as it was had been so perfectly captured in the swirling leaves and distant intimacy of the couple, a couple who were still off exploring volcanoes, yet felt so close to us in the picture. 

Graceful but study hands found Jay and my shoulders, and we naturally steered around in joint motion to be met with the distinct, focused eyes of Chester McKee, capturer of people's inmost feelings through outwards motion. The soft rawness in the talk we had together a few weeks ago lingered in my mind, as I was met with recognition- yet Gatsby also received the same look, and he wore a smirk as he guided us in to the next room- his personal favourite photographs. The centre of one of the walls displayed the photograph the exhibition was named after; dark waters met the midnight sky in a thin, pitch black collision zone, the light waves hitting the horizon before erupting into sparkling stars scattering the sky, each with a hidden story and tale of it's own. But that was not the focus of my view. 

Next to this photograph was a slightly smaller, but much brighter one, centred around one person engulfed in a happy magenta light, looking in to the camera, yet beyond it, in not-quite clear eyes, and the smile was more than genuine, telling the tale of a man who had lived a life in that one perfect night, ending with his body leaning against the bar with a casual dominance that could be felt through the photograph. It was labelled: The Gatsby and the Phoenix, as if it were an age old legend being carefully rolled around families and cultures before finally being written down. Perhaps that’s what I’m doing now, but i still think that title was well intended, but wrong: Jay Gatsby was real, very real, and passed among us all, spreading sunlight to those he loved, and a cool warmth to all others around him, that I could feel overwhelmingly at this moment in time. 

“Old Sport,” he whispered in to my ear- it felt like a gentle solar flare. “Is it just me, or does that sign in the back ground say ‘Gay Bar’?”   
Looking at him incredulously, I watched the cogs in his head activate.   
“Oh, Old Sport, is The Phoenix a gay bar? It makes sense now! You know, you really were horrified when you saw me there, Old Sport. Now, in my mind, you’ve been delivered from the womb of purposeless horror, into a world of an adorable gay farmer, trying to pave his way in a world ridden with homophobia. That’s a tough job.   
And, I wonder, if I can help you pave your way?”  
Such beautiful words uttered with such sincere passion and love, just to ask if he could be my boyfriend- it was too much. Of course, this was very much reflected in my reply:  
“Jay Gatsby, marry me.”  
As dumb as it was, Jay only delivered his reassuring smile, before intertwining his fingers with mine, as we went along. 

Our non-blood family seemed to all be captured somewhere in the photos, a reminder of how connected and small this massive world is: we saw Marianne and Charlie, the former working in the folds of fabric, using some sort of magic to bind it all into the dress for someone's dream day, the latter, simply watching his wife in awe and delight, sitting peacefully in the background. Jaylen, our brilliant nurse, Jordan and Daisy all holding hands in tight tension as a blurred tennis game seemed to go ahead in front of them. Then there was me, shirtless, sprawled in bedsheets, a cup of coffee encased in my grip, the smell emerging from the picture, while in the photograph I looked to the heavens with closed eyes, in simple thanks of the existence of caffeine. I remember the photo being taken, and agreeing to it being displayed, yet I never got the chance to see the cozy mess that was the final product. 

Jay's hand was still sown to mine when we exited the exhibition, with huge thanks to Chester as we received prints of the photographs of ourselves, ready for a home we can hopefully build for ourself (not to be too eager). With that, the day was over..but the night was yet to begin.


	9. Starry Horizons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it- it’s been fun to write, and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it!
> 
> Final little epilogue now! Note, Bishop Anselm was a philosopher who said that it is better for things to exist in real life that solely in the mind, using this concept to prove God's existence. Referenced here as a little parody to when Nick mentions philosopher Immanuel Kant and his Church Steeple.
> 
> Lots of love, Will x

Golden glows through New York's curtains and blinds held secrets and stories for other tales to come, but for me and Gatsby, our synced walk and breathing hid the tale of two nervous men who dreamt too much, convinced whatever was pictured in our confused minds could be greater than this contained little earth and limited possibilities. Two surprised men, who through the earth's tiny intimacy and the vast second world of the internet, realised that whatever was pictured of a different universe, was completely out of reach, and all they could grab was the here and now. Two overjoyed men, who looked around desperately, only to find each other, and realising that what Bishop Anselm said, all those years ago, was true: what exists in reality, will always be better than what the mind drew up. 

“Awfully deep that. All that happened was that I went from dreaming about kissing you, to finding out about you being gay for me on an AO3 disclaimer to actually kissing-”   
Jay abruptly stopped, realising the flaw in his words (we had never actually kissed), drawing back in to the train's tatty seat. He had been glancing at the words I had written above with careful consideration, before making his careless comment. I felt a shift in his feeling, from a gentle content to a resolute, determined desire to rectify his early mistake, the new feeling still as overpowering as his lavender deodorant, which reminded me once again, why I came to love this man. (Both his determination and lavender deodorant to clarify).

Once we got off, we were back in to the starry, urban streets of New York, even darker than before. Jay did not have time to stroll, and instead clasped my hand is his, and lead me back to his home, just as I had lead him to the exhibition earlier. Rapidly we rushed through the house, and emerged in the garden, by the harbour. The past danced in my mind, causing my cheeks to redden while the millions of stars winked at me suggestively. I prised my hand from Gatsby, shoving it safely in to my large, Doctor Who coat pocket. 

“Do you remember when we first met?”  
“At the party.” His voice was hoarse yet rich, simple yet glistening with a hundred memories, “Where I danced with Daisy and you danced with Jordan.”  
“And then as a joke, we danced together.”  
My hand raised out of it's sheltered pocket like an angel, gliding over to Gatsby's hip. 

“Yep. It was a quick song, we were tipsy, everyone laughed.” He continued, his voice getting more breathless and quiet   
My other hand was only to eager to bat away my anxiety, and find Gatsby's hip also. 

“It was perfect for then”, I said, keeping my voice low, only for his ears, to the sad glances of the gossiping garden and sea.   
“But time has changed, our feelings have changed, our needs as changed.”  
I giggled: my thought exactly, but put as strikingly as a human could, from the beautiful tonic that was Jay's voice. Infinite silence held for a few seconds, as everything sank in.

“Times have indeed changed. And I think what would be perfect right now, Jay, would be a silent song, with us tipsy on each other, and a dance with you- in front of the admiring stars and waves.”  
With a grin, he murmured back: “I couldn’t agree more, Old Sport.”

So we danced.


End file.
